The Promise of a Lifetime
by ncis-lady
Summary: This is definitely not alright. That much George knows for sure. He can’t remember why he knows it, though, all he knows is that something is wrong. The kind of wrong that can’t be fixed with a flick of the wand. Two-shot. Set during and after DH.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** It's been a while since my last HP stories (or George Weasley stories for that matter), but after watching "The Halfblood Prince" it all came back to me, and I was probably the only person in the cinema who had to laugh _and_ fight back tears at the same time when she saw Fred and George in the movie. Silly me, I know, crying over fictional characters. But I don't care. This short story has been in my head for a while and waited to be written, but thanks to uni and life in general, it took some time. I'm sure it's been written lots and lots of times before but again, I don't care. I needed to get this out of my head, so here it is. There'll be a second chapter (and just one) which I hope to finish soon. I'm also currently working on another, longer story, but it will take some time till I publish it because I want to finish it first. The title of this story is the title of a song which I found in a wonderful Fred/George tribute video, search for it on Youtube but remember to take some tissues with you! ;) If you like this one, I'd appreciate a short review! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and related figures, and I disclaim any rights for this story. The plot is mine, the characters are not (no matter how I wish they were).

_I dedicate this story to all those who have loved ones in the armed forces and wait for them to come home safe._

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**The Promise of a Lifetime**

The sun was setting slowly above the rooftops of London, and George Weasley found himself staring out of the window down onto Diagon Alley. An elder couple was leaving a café at the corner of the road. Apart from them, there was no one to be seen. George sighed, and absent-mindedly touched the side of his head where a hole was covered by his flaming red hair. People kept hiding as much as they could these days. These were dangerous times, and he was probably even more aware of that than most other people. Images appeared in his mind, some clear, some already fading, but all of them a warning reminder. There was Bill's face, badly scarred, there was his father in a hospital bed, there was Mad-Eye Moody's body, cold and still on the grass. And there was the look on Fred's face, the first thing George had seen when he woke up on the sofa, back then.

He took a deep breath and turned away from the window when he heard footsteps on the stairs. A second later Fred came through the door, and George forced himself to a smile, trying to shake off the thoughts running through his head.

George was sleeping badly, drifting in and out of sleep, with dreams that were weird in the best, terrifying in the worst case. Everytime he woke up, he tried to remember what exactly he had seen. But the images would remain blurred, and he would fall back to sleep.

When he woke up yet again, though, he immediately sensed that something was different. It hadn't been a bad dream, but a noise that had made him open his eyes.

"Fred?"

He knew his brother wasn't there even before he illuminated the room with a flick of his wand. The bed on the other side of the room was empty.

George put his bare feet onto the cold floor, and a shiver ran down his spine. He wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that he'd been lying in a warm bed, or if it was something else. Quickly he made his way out of the room towards the small living room, for some reason he knew where to go to find him. He always did.

Fred was standing with his back to him when he walked through the door, staring out of the window although there was nothing to see except the pitch black sky. He didn't turn around.

"Hey, you alright?", George asked carefully, knowing quite well that his brother was definitely _not_ alright. The question was if Fred would pretend to be.

"I couldn't sleep", his twin answered, and there was something in his voice that made George go nearer to him.

"Me neither", he said.

It was then that Fred finally looked at him.

"Aidan is still missing."

George nodded. Aidan was a young man in his late twenties, who lived just down the road. They'd met at the pub a while ago, and although they weren't close friends, they'd talked every now and then. Aidan was a writer for an underground newspaper, and he hadn't been seen for 2 weeks now.

"I bet they have him", Fred said quietly, and George knew who he meant by "_them_". People had been abducted all over the country, some never to be seen again, some found murdered, with the Dark Mark above their mutilated bodies.

He didn't reply, for he knew that his brother was most probably right.

Fred walked away from the window over to the old sofa, and slowly sat down. He rubbed his face once, then twice again, and George simply stood and watched, waiting for him to be ready.

"Have you ever", Fred hesitated for a second, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk at all, "Have you ever thought that someday it could be one of us?"

It was only then that he looked up, looked into George's eyes, and there was a silent plead to let him know he wasn't alone. To assure him that he wasn't the only one, and above all, promise him that there was no reason for those thoughts after all.

But George didn't know what to say. That's why he kept standing where he was and remained silent.

"I mean", Fred continued, "it's not like I'm scared, you know. Not scared of Voldi, not scared of his army of sickos. But... dunno, sometimes I can't help thinking that we've just been lucky so far. And how quickly the luck can fade. How life can fade."

George took a deep breath. This was different from the conversations they'd had before. Of course they'd talked about Voldemort, about the danger they were all in, especially after Ron going away with Harry and Hermione. God, how much he wished to know for sure that his little brother was safe! But despite their worries – and George knew that Fred was just as worried as everyone in the family – they had never really let it get to them. They'd made jokes about George's missing ear, had stocked up the shop with U-No-Poo and Shield Hats, and had pretended to be alright. Now it was clear that none of them was.

"George, when you... you know...", and George nodded because he knew very well what Fred was talking about. "For a moment I thought you were... and in that moment I realized I could never live with that. I realized what's at stake, and then Mad-Eye gone..."

The young man cast his eyes down again, and the sight of him being slumped down on the sofa hurt George more than he would have expected under normal circumstances. But, as he reminded himself, everything was far from normal these days.

"But I wasn't", George said tentatively, knowing well that he had to chose his words wisely. "We made it through, and that's all that matters. And we will make it through again."

"How can you be so sure about that?" Fred's voice was hoarse, and not at all resembling the usually joyous tone that was so typical of the twins.

George smiled. "Because it's us. We're the Weasleys, we've been through so much before and never let it get to us. Seriously do you really think Voldemort's gang can be any worse than Umbridge? Or than Mum when she found out we'd used her precious silver pots for creating Puking Pastilles?"

Fred chuckled quietly.

"I guess my cute bum never completely recovered from that." But as quickly as the grin had appeared, his face became serious again. "I don't know mate, I feel like a right git talking like that, but I just can't help it. I'm not a coward, George, you know that. I really want to kick Voldemort's ass big time, but I'm scared about the price we might have to pay. That we already have paid. It's not that I'd do it any other way, and when the time comes I'll be ready. Oh for Merlin's sake, I don't even know what I'm trying to say!" And Fred buried his face in his hands again, so that George suddenly found himself staring onto the red hair and slumped shoulders instead of Fred's blue eyes.

It was only then that he crossed the distance between himself and the sofa, and he wondered why every step he took seemed so long. He sat down next to his brother, and without thinking, he rested his hand on the twin's shoulder. Fred didn't move.

"It will be alright. I promise." It was hard to form the words, and he didn't know why, because after all, they were the truth. They _had_ to be. Because George didn't know how he could possibly deal with it if they weren't.

"We're gonna give them hell, won't we?", Fred said, his voice muffled through his hands.

George was grateful that his brother wasn't looking at him. He tried to make his voice sound as cheerful as possible when he said, "Yeah, we will."

Fred raised his head, and for some reason, George tried to avoid his gaze. Not that he succeeded though.

"Everything's going to be alright in the end, isn't it?"

"It will. I promise. If it's not alright, it's not the end."

George believed in that. He just didn't know why all of a sudden it was so hard to look his twin in the eyes.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is the second and final part of this short story. I dedicate it to 2 people: first and foremost to my mum, who died exactly 11 years ago - I love you mum. Second, to my uncle, her twin brother - because he knows what it feels like.

If you like this story please r&r!

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_If it's not alright, it's not the end._

This is definitely not alright. That much George knows for sure. He can't remember why he knows it, though, all he knows is that something is wrong. The kind of wrong that can't be fixed with a flick of the wand.

He can hear people whispering and crying, but they're far away, almost as if they were from another world. A world he doesn't belong to, a world so cold that it freezes the lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Somehow he has stumbled into this world, a world of tears and pain, and he thinks he shouldn't be here. This isn't where he's supposed to be. It is wrong.

It is wrong to see his little brother staring into nothingness while tears are running down his pale cheeks. It is wrong for his oldest brother to hold his wife's hand so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Everything is so wrong, and for the first time in 20 years, George doesn't have anyone to make it alright. There's no one to fix what has been broken, and he doesn't understand why.

His eyes scan the room and take in everything, from the slumped figure of a thin young man with horn-rimmed glasses, to the girl with the bushy brown hair; from the newspaper on the table to the clock on the wall. He looks away quickly.

And with a pang he realizes that his search is in vain, and will always be, for the one he needs the most will never be there again.

His hand flys up to the side of his head, he feels the hole underneath his fingers, and he thinks it's weird that he still hasn't gotten used to it. Shouldn't it be normal after such a long time? It doesn't hurt often anymore, but sometimes it almost feels like the missing ear is still there. He's never told anyone about it, because he's never been the kind of man to raise a fuss about small things. And he keeps telling himself that the weird feeling will fade, that some day the hole will feel normal, and it won't hurt anymore.

He just doesn't know how to deal with the other hole. The one that isn't visible to any of the people surrounding him, the one that hurts more than any physical wound could ever do, the one that can never be filled again. It will always be there, and George knows it's only a matter of time until he will fall into this hole, and he wonders if then, at least, the pain will stop. For when you fall into nothingness, there's nothing to feel after all.

People keep coming into the house, and the kitchen and living room are crowded. There's a buzzing sound that rings in George's ear, an uncomfortable mixture of whispers and cries and empty words. He doesn't get up to shake hands. Sometimes he feels a hand put onto his shoulder, but he never even budges. A million words of consolation cannot erase the emptiness within, the people around him are nothing more than blurred shadows on a rainy day, and he thinks that sometimes when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.

From time to time he thinks that someone is looking at him, but maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him. Whether it is or not, George doesn't look up. Looking into anyone's eyes would break him, he knows it, and he can't do this to his mum, fact. It's hard enough as it is.

He can't believe it's been 2 days now since he last saw him. Somehow it still hasn't sunk in. He flinches everytime he hears the door opening, as if he was expecting him to come in any second. But within the blink of an eye the moment of expectation passes, and realization strikes again. Fred will not come back. He is gone, without a word of goodbye, and George's soul is in pieces. Ripped apart, without a chance to mend it. He chokes hard and wonders why suddenly his eyes begin to fill. Shouldn't he have run out of tears by now? Is it _possible_ to run out of tears? George really wishes it was, because he's tired of it. He's tired of trying to hold it together, tired of acting like he can deal with it, and most of all, tired of people seeing right through his act. All he wants to do is lock himself in his room and curl up in bed and sleep. Sleep until the nightmare is over and he can breathe easy again.

But this isn't a nightare. It is so much worse, for there is no awakening, not this time. Faintly he remembers the childhood days, or nights for that matter, back when he would wake up from a bad dream and see his mother or father standing at his bedside, murmuring soothing words of comfort. It's not like they haven't tried this time, but this is so different, and they know it. How can they give him comfort, when they can't even find it for themselves? It's impossible, and George knows it. He just really wishes he could turn back time and be the child again that he once was.

Where have the dreams gone that he had back then? He used to have a lot of dreams, but right now, he can't think of any of them. They were never meant for one person alone.

Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder, and for some reason he can't ignore it this time. Slowly he lifts his head, and he feels like an old man as he moves for the first time in what seems an eternity.

He looks up into his father's eyes, he sees the thin streaks on the unnaturally pale skin and he notices that his father suddenly looks much older than he did only a couple of days ago. There are grey strands in his red hair and wrinkles around his eyes in which the tears have left silvery marks.

"It is time, son."

The words penetrate the silence that surrounds them, the room has become quiet, and the silence is even worse than the crying. It's not alright for this house to be quiet. Nothing is right anymore.

He gets to his feet, and for a moment the two men simply look at each other, and then George nods. Now he knows what he has to do.

He is still at the edge of breaking, and it takes all of his willpower to fight back the tears. But the time for them hasn't come yet. Right now, he needs to be strong for those who are left to him. Mechanically his feet make their way over to the corner of the room to where his brother is standing with terrified eyes behind his glasses.

"Perce?"

The young man flinches, and George notices that his hands are shaking. Suddenly he isn't so sure if he can do this.

Percy looks at him, and George doesn't avoid his gaze. He simply nods and hopes that it's enough. He doesn't want to talk, and thankfully Percy doesn't seem to want him to either. In this moment it is enough for both of them to be there for each other.

Side by side the two brothers walk towards the wooden door. How often have they stepped over the doorsill? George doesn't know. But he knows that it's never been that hard before. For the first time in 20 years, he is scared of leaving the house. He wishes he could just stay inside and wait for things to become normal again. Wait for his mother to stop crying, for his brother to stop shaking, and above all, wait for Fred to come back. But he can't. Not this time.

Someone takes his hand, and to George's surprise he sees Ginny at his left. She squeezes his hand tightly as if she was afraid to fall if she didn't have his hand to hold on to. And who knows, maybe she would. Aren't they all bound to fall without someone to hold on to?

He turns his head and sees Ron and Charlie walk behind them, heads bowed, followed by Hermione and Harry. Bill and Fleur are walking hand in hand, Bill's scarred face is rigid while tears are cascading down Fleur's cheeks. Molly and Arthur are at the end of the procession, and George turns his gaze away quickly. He can't deal with seeing his mother like that. He knows that he'll have to, someday, but now is not the time. He's got a task to do, and that is to find what little strength he has left, and be there for his siblings. Because he knows that Fred would want him to, and that's all that matters in this moment.

"_Everything's going to be alright in the end, isn't it?"_

"_It will. I promise. If it's not alright, it's not the end."_

Now that promise is broken, and it can't be made right. All George can do is look out for those who are left to him, his brothers, his sister, his parents. His family. He has to try, and he will, he promises quietly. And that promise he will keep.

That's what he owes Fred, his twin, his best friend, his soulmate.

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**Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.**

~Norman Cousins


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